It came as a surprise
as I travelled
to the City of
Brotherly Love:
A new edifice,
a symbol of The Lord’s Love
for His Children,
was reared since
I was here last,
eating Pat’sGino’s Cheesesteaks
with my eternal children.
Apostles and Prophets
made it sacred ground,
His House,
just before I landed.
I was shocked.
Somehow I’d missed
the Announcement
of yet another outpost,
another tower
on the wall.
Me, unkempt,
post 9 hour day
in the City’s office,
business casual
with a backpack and an
blue-collared
no tie shirt,
I decided to go.
I wept as I entered,
the first through
the Temple’s East Gate,
unlocked just for me.
I had no suit and tie,
no reservation
as others had.
But I was ready to work.
So I went first,
no cash, to get
the appropriate clothes.
Was mine the first credit card used there?
Probably.
I wept.
I went,
initially,
where new workers
stumbled
over sacred words.
I was kind,
rejoicing in their service,
thanking them,
weeping at their kindness
and humility.
I knelt,
as a son,
with backwards clothing
(until a mom fixed it),
gazing into eternal mirrors,
working,
painfully,
putting sons together
with Ma and Pa,
Priesthood flowing,
restored
to its current state
near a river
flowing in this same state,
hoping my sons and daughters
will someday join me,
and wept again,
and thanked those who serve,
and served
at the Mountain of the Lord’s House.
Robed,
I sat,
still,
probably one of the first,
in the sacred Celestial Room,
woodwork wrought like
revolutionary craftsmen.
There,
I pondered the sacrifices
of the Lord,
and of Patriots:
They who declared Independence,
in a Hall not far away,
from tyranny,
and He who proclaimed freedom
from sin
and death
on a hill far away.
I felt certain
they were there
in their city,
honored to be witnesses
to what their Patriotism
and love
had bought and,
at last,
brought.
I wept,
and walked,
and thought of my Italian
and Jewish
and Park friends
who had probably never dreamed
of this day.
But here it stood.
And here I stood.
I wasn’t ready,
but I prepared,
and I was worthy.
So I went
and wept,
and rejoiced
at a symbol of His love
in this city known
for love.
Cyrano Writer: Musings of a Revolutionary Romantic Poet 
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